Pilgrim
by Atejas
Summary: -CHAPTER 3 ADDED-I do not own fable or fable tlc.My first attempt at fanfic, this describes the whole Fable story from one Hero's perspective. All feedback appreciated. Spoilers, obv.
1. The boy

Pilgrim

Pilgrim

The boy was a prodigy. Of course, the Heroes Guild had its fair share of prodigious students- Maze. Thunder and Briar Rose sprang to mind. But this boy displayed a certain….discipline that they could not. This self-control had only been developed after a straight year of training, but, considering the circumstances of the boy's entry, it was a miracle that he turned out as anything besides an emotional wreck, too appalled by the memory of the blades those bandits wielded to use a sword of his own, or too startled by the lightning that had saved his life to master anything besides shooting sparks.

No, after the first night, which the Guildmaster heard him cry throughout, the boy appeared to have strengthened his resolve, although it was too early to tell whether for justice or vengeance. The Guildmaster also detected the beginnings of a certain gentility, and this was a good sign- he was always polite and courteous, except during the many sparring sessions he undertook each day, during which he became ruthless and cold, exploiting his enemies' weaknesses.

Another curious thing about the boy was his predilection for unarmed combat. On the first day, he had ripped apart a training dummy using nothing but his bare hands, and, when his apprenticeship began, he refused a longsword but still defeated Whisper, who was armed with her signature quarterstaff.

He had seen the boy snap saplings in half before he was even a teenager, and defeat graduated Heroes in combat during his apprenticeship. At some times, the boy appeared to enter a state of nearly inhuman speed, visible as nothing but a blur when he attacked with one of his open-handed slaps or roundhouse kicks, and even moving fast enough to dodge and catch arrows. It was obvious that even at this age, he had a deep affinity for the Will, the source of his unnatural speed.

The Guildmaster sighed. This boy had so much potential, but what if he just ended up becoming another Twinblade, a deserter and a coward, or one of the countless overeager apprentices who were beheaded by bandits on their first quest?

But whenever his thoughts went this way, he would remember the look of utmost calm that was on the boy's face at all times, even, or especially, in combat. He could visualise it very clearly- the calm, detached, almost cold eyes, sweeping once from left to right and absorbing everything, _everything_, he saw, the serene look on his face, at the most degenerating into a slight frown when faced with a seemingly insurmountable setback, the boneless, confident way he moved and fought, which, whether intentionally or not, always gave an impression of weakness to his foes, one that was summarily rectified.

No, the boy was too disciplined to fall, and too skilled and calm to die early.

The Guildmaster had very high hopes for this boy indeed.

But he could not help but wonder if his discipline was beneficial in every respect.


	2. Chicken Chaser

The Hero took his first real breath of fresh air in many years. The Guild had plenty of open lawns, but there the sweetness of the air was always laced with the tang of steel, or the stench of blood or singed fabric. Now, however, they were conspicuously absent.

It was funny how you never noticed these things. The Hero, unfortunately known to the world at large as Chicken Chaser, due to an unfortunate misunderstanding during one of his training missions( a speed test, to be precise), scratched his bald head curiously and threw up the hood on his apprentice outfit. Lookout Point diverged into several directions, but he was not sure which one to go into first. The Guildmaster had told him to come back quickly so that he could take his first quest, which meant that the Chicken Chaser's first excursion into the real world would have to be rather short. He decided to go the way the statue at the center of these roads was pointing, towards what his map said was 'Greatwood'.

He broke into a quick jog, armed with nothing but his apprentice clothes and a few apples and potions the Guildmaster had given to him.

Upon entering Greatwood, the first thing The Chicken Chaser noticed was a monotonous, incessant buzzing sound. The second thing he noticed was a rather large wasp, about the length of his arm. The third thing he noticed was the Trader cowering in fear as the wasp flew closer. The Chicken Chaser ran over to the wasp, grabbed it by its midsection, and split it in half before the Trader had time to stop cowering.

Jonah looked with a mixture of curiosity, fear and gratitude upon the man who had saved his life, only to find that he could not see anything besides a cream-coloured blur. Still, those cream uniforms were famous as the outfit of Guild apprentices. So it was a Hero who had saved him, that much was obvious. He had to be powerful, to move that fast, but new out of the Guild, otherwise he would have found a change of clothes. Then he realised that while this had all gone through his head, he had been standing there like an idiot, arms raised in protection. He put them down hurriedly.

"Thank you, Hero"

The Hero responded with an unintelligible word that might have been one compressed and mangled phrase "Diwasureou?"

"Erm.. I'm sorry, Hero, I didn't quite get that. Come again, please?" Jonah was all too aware of the temperamentality and downright insanity of some Heroes, and, in any case, felt he owed this man a modicum of respect.

The Hero finally slowed down, and Jonah appraised him.

He was obviously quite strong, if his muscles were anything to go by. But his graceful movements and compact runner's build suggested he was not just a bodybuilder like Thunder or Twinblade. His apprentice clothes were worn with a certain fastidiousness, cleaned with what was obviously a great amount of care. Even his boots retained their original colour, right down to the blue cloth that held it against his trousers.

His face was not handsome, and in fact looked a bit ugly, due to its slightly bulbous nose and weak jaw. His head was shaved bald, and the discernible differences in skin tone between his former hairline and the rest of his face combined with his face itself to make him appear a fool upon cursory inspection. Look closer, and you would see the pale blue eyes looking at you with a disconcerting concentration and the mouth curved slightly upwards, seemingly ready to break into a smile at all times.

"Sorry" The Hero said. Just like everything else about him, it was paradoxically worrying. More than the words themselves, his tone of voice made an impact- detached but not apathetic, calm yet curiously intense.

"Did that wasp injure you?"

Jonah held out his arm. On it was a bloody gash where the insect had scored the flesh

"It's not too bad."

"Let me see it" The Hero said. Jonah tentatively offered his arm to this strange man, who clasped a hand loosely over the wound, causing Jonah to gasp in pain, and closed his eyes.

Suddenly the pain was gone. A faint white light flowed out from The Hero's hands and into the wound, sealing it up. Now only a rip in his sleeve and a spot of dried blood remained to show it had ever existed.

"Th-Thank you, Hero. I am grateful."

The Hero merely smiled and nodded.

"Incidentially, Hero, I didn't catch your name."

"Oh, it's-" And here he frowned slightly "Chicken Chaser. Have you heard of me?"

"Ah, yes. Yes I have. I er...I imagined you would have bigger hands."

"Yes, of course. Now, this area has many wasps in it. Where are you headed?"

Jonah frowned and scratched his head.

"Erm...Oakvale, sir. Why?"

"Alright, I'd like to help you get there, if you're alright with that. By the way, what is your name?"

"Jonah, sir. Are you sure? I mean, I would be glad for the protection, not to mention the company, but most Heroes only do this sort of thing when the Guild pays them to."

"Of course. Let's go."


	3. Oakvale

The Balverine stopped, thrust its snout into the air and sniffed experimentally. It smelled human flesh. It had been days since its last meal, and it was on the verge of eating a Hobbe just to stave of the horrible gnawing in its belly. But now...

The human was close. Behind it!

It tried to spin around, but had barely started turning before an unforeseeably strong punch clipped its jaw, throwing it to the ground. It got up and roared in fury, yellow eyes scanning balefully for the human that had attacked it.

The Chicken Chaser allowed a humourless smile to cross his lips. Oh, it was pissed now.

"Get away from here, Jonah. The gate to Oakvale's right there" He said, not taking his eyes of the now recovered Balverine.

The Trader shook his head stubbornly. Or maybe it was just shaking in fear. Either way, he stayed rooted to the spot.

Their journey through Greatwood had been fairly uneventful. They had sen a few beetles, which The Chicken Chaser had effortlessy dispatched, but besides that there was no more resistance. Except for the gorge. That area was overrun with bandits, and while Jonah's initial assumption was that the Chicken Chaser would plow right into them as he had done with the wasp and the beetles, he simply walked up to the nearest bandit and paid him an exorbitant sum of gold. When Jonah had asked about this later, he simply shrugged and replied "I know my weakness." And he smiled in that strange way again "Besides, why do I need money? I have everything I need. I own only my apprentice outfit, out of respect to the Guild that took me in and trained me, I do not need any weapons, I can heal myself with The Will, and I fish for food."

Jonah felt that this man- for he was a man, regardless of his youthful appearance, had realised something of terrible importance, that the rest of Albion was still struggling to find out. After that, he treated him not just with respect, but with reverence.

The relative peace they had enjoyed, however, was broken as soon as they entered Darkwood, where they were constantly pestered by groups of Hobbes, and the occasional Nymph or Balverine. Jonah boasted several superficial cuts along his arms and torso which The Chicken Chaser had healed. Nonetheless, he felt a bit weak.

Now they were at the final exit- the one that led to Barrow Fields. However, just before they could exit, The Chicken Chaser had spotted a Balverine. A particularly vicious one, judging by how it shrugged off the punch it had just recieved.

It roared again, and pounced towards The Chicken Chaser. He nimbly ducked it, and landed an elbow on its chest.

The creature lost its balance and bounced off the damp, moldy ground, coming to a rest only when its head hit a tree. It lay on the ground, trying to regain its senses. In an instant, however, The Chicken Chaser was upon him, administering a brutal stomp to the Balverine's chest. Jonah winced as he heard it's ribs crack. The creature howled mournfully, and then was still.

The Hero looked up "How about now?"

The town of Oakval was bustling with activity when The Hero went in. Everywhere he looked, people were walking, chatting, laughing, carrying crates to and fro. It was hard to believe that only a few years ago, this town had been nothing but a fiery ruin.

He looked around. Things had changed. The buildings were subtly different, there were more houses than he remembered, and the entrance to the field was sealed off. The people were different too. They were slightly more drawn and nervous looking. The laughs were high-pitched and abrupt, eyes darted furtively, like they were on the lookout for some form of danger.

The Chicken Chaser strolled down the path towards the inn. He wondered if his old house was still here...?

A whistle. He turned around with indefatigable self-assurance, though he half-expected it to be some form of challenge. Oakvale had changed.

A young lady was smiling brightly at him. "Hello!" She said in a breathy, vaguely familiar voice, "I remember you! We thought you'd died in that awful bandit raid all those years ago!"

Recognition came flooding back. She was the young girl whose teddy bear had gone missing. For a second he was surrounded by overpowering tongues of flame again, standing over the corpse of his father...

"Anyway," The girl said, misinterpreting his obvious dismay "It was nice to say you again. Goodbye." And with that, she turned on her heel and walked away, a look of disappointment and annoyance on her face.

The Chicken Chaser shook his head. After all these years of training and discipline, one simple memory had gone and shattered his self-control like glass.

He decided to go look for his house again, although his lip curled at the memory of his childhood. He remembered the girl and her bear. He also remembered beating up a young child and giving it to another boy for a gold piece.

He walked past the old warehouse, where he had smashed up some barels in order to find another gold piece.

What had he bought with the gold, anyway? Oh, right, he bought some chocolates. A few of which he gave to his sister for her birthday.

After that night, he had changed. In the bandits' cruel enjoyment of violence, he had seen the potential for his own downfall.

His mind started wandering further, but was then distracted by a chiming from his Guild Seal. "Hero! Where are you?" The Guildmaster demanded in his familiar scratchy voice. "Come back and take a quest card right now!"

The Chicken Chaser sighed. Nebulous blue lines cascaded over his frame, and in a moment, they covered him. Then he was gone, and the lines formed a halo around nothing but air.

Then they too, were gone.


End file.
